


In Between Takes

by Mirror_ball



Category: TharnType the Series (TV), เกลียดนักมาเป็นที่รักกันซะดีๆ | TharnType: The Series (TV) RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24143347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirror_ball/pseuds/Mirror_ball
Summary: The story follows Mew and Gulf as they navigate their relationship on the set of TharnType: The Series.
Relationships: Mew Suppasit Jongcheveevat/Gulf Kanawut Traipipattanapong
Comments: 19
Kudos: 169





	1. Confusion

Gulf's confusing.

Granted, he's been like that from day one, but at first Mew thought it was out of sheer obliviousness. Sure, the _real_ kiss during the workshop was an act of boldness Mew wasn't expecting from a newcomer like Gulf, but then again, no one had told him he wasn't required to do that sort of thing during a workshop. That kid just wasn't aware. It had to be that.

And about that shower scene they shot. In hindsight, maybe someone should have warned Gulf that slipping the tongue in wasn't what they were going for in that scene. Or in the whole series, really. Rating restrictions, right? To be fair, Mew wasn't exactly complaining. It did take him by surprise, yes, but could it possibly be unwelcome? Excuse me, did you see that kid? Mew blamed the tongue incident on Gulf's inexperience and simply decided to take it for what it was – a perk that comes with his job. 

After that, Gulf seemed to keep himself in check. No more unscripted kissing or unexpected tongue slipping. He was doing so well for such a long time that Mew was rather taken aback when Gulf's boldness made an appearance again, in a scene that didn't even seem like such a big challenge.

It was supposed to be simple. A peck, a quick I-wanna-drown-in-your-eyes moment, some kissing, and then a few nibbles at Gulf's neck. A no-brainer. Mew had this part of script memorized for a good while now, so he was confident they would complete the scene in one take and finally finish shooting for the day. Not that he minded hovering over Gulf's body, but that's beside the point.

It was all going well enough until Mew's lips touched the skin under Gulf's left ear and wandered down as Mew proceeded to trail kisses along his costar's neck. At first, he thought he misheard. He was too focused on making sure that he was tilting his head at the right angle so that Gulf's face remained unobstructed. But then, it happened again, and this time there was no doubt about it – Gulf let out a rather audible, albeit breathy, moan.

It was fine, it happens. Mew was breathing quite heavily himself – after all, even if he's an actor, he can't control the way nature works. Then again, there's a difference between rapid breathing and freaking _moaning_.

"Cut," the director instructed sharply. "You do realize we're not shooting porn, right?"

Mew thought he saw a look of embarrassment briefly creep across Gulf's face, before it disappeared altogether to make room for one of utter bewilderment, and maybe something else, too, something oddly mysterious.

"I was just trying to make it look convincing," Gulf said matter-of-factly as his shoulders rose in a tiny shrug. "Was that too much?"

Wondering if Gulf's innocent reaction was genuine at all, Mew sighed to himself. This hovering position was already starting to take its toll on his back. And to think he'd hoped to complete this scene in one take.

***

Gulf's confusing as hell, and it's starting to make Mew lose his mind.

He's not a newbie, for heaven's sake, he should know better than to fall into the kid's trap. But the more they shoot together, and the more they interact during the breaks in between takes, the more puzzled Mew seems to be getting.

The funny thing is, Mew feels like he's around two different people at once. Granted, they're actors, and it's their damn job to be able to breathe life into their characters, but for a first-timer, Gulf seems to be exceptionally good at that. In between takes, Gulf's hardly capable of maintaining eye contact. With anyone, mind you, not just Mew. So it's rather nerve-wracking to see him transform from a shy boy who can't even strike up a conversation, to a feisty little bitch Type is. And that sudden change in Gulf's demeanor, that different energy he exudes as Type during the scenes, is driving Mew crazy. Because either Gulf is already on par with Oscar-winning actors, and he's faking his cravings really damn well, or he hasn't shown his true colors yet. 

And when Gulf lets his nails dig into Mew's shoulders a little harder than necessary during the next love scene, Mew hopes it's the latter.


	2. Professional Conversation

Mew can't seem to figure it out. How can one person be such a dick when they're filming, and such a timid boy when there are no cameras around? He supposes that's what acting is about, but he can't shake off the feeling that there must be more to this dissonance. And, nosy as he is, he decides to make solving that mystery his goal.

Is it just an excuse to try and get closer to that silent boy? Well, surely his big eyes and a chestnut-shaped mouth that stretches in the prettiest of smiles whenever he greets the film crew or receives a compliment from the director, are hard to ignore. And besides, getting closer to your costar can't do you any harm, right?

Except it can. And out of all people, Mew should know that best. He should have learnt his lesson. Instead, he's going down the same rabbit hole all over again.

But he's yet to realize that.

***

"Hi," Mew greets his junior, taking a seat next to him on the floor, cross-legged.

"Hi."

The answer is so silent Mew's not completely sure he didn't imagine it. As expected, no eye contact is established between them. Mew sometimes wonders if Gulf is really this shy, or whether he's just plain standoffish.

"I was thinking, would you like to grab some lunch later and discuss the scene we're shooting today?" Mew offers, hoping against all hope that Gulf looks up from the script in his lap.

"No, thanks," comes a simple answer.

Well, that's not where this was supposed to go. Also, should he feel offended?

"Sorry, what's that again?"

"We can discuss the scene here," Gulf says, eyes still scanning the script. "Like we always do."

"I was just -," Mew tries to come up with an excuse on the spot, something to help him save his face, but suddenly decides against it. "Look. It's been what, a few weeks now? And I feel like we're still borderline strangers to each other. I'm just trying to be nice. Buy you lunch. Chat about random stuff. Get comfortable."

"I don't consider having lunch with a borderline stranger particularly comfortable."

"Yet you don't mind making out with that borderline stranger against every possible surface."

"That's called acting," Gulf says in a calm, yet stern voice. At least Mew has succeeded in getting his junior to look up from his lap. "I'm trying to be professional about it."

"Then how about trying to be professional by being nice to your seniors?" Mew rises his brow. "Come on, it's only going to benefit your Type. And I don't bite, promise!"

Gulf directs his gaze back to the script as he seems to ponder his answer. And hold on, is that a trace of the tiniest smile on his chestnut-like lips?

"Fine," he says with a sigh. "If it's going to help Type."

***

Well, wasn't that a lovely conversation. Having dragged his feet across the set, Mew flops onto the chair in the most secluded part of the room. It's only 11 in the morning, and he already feels exhausted.

The conversation with Gulf, although short, seems to have tired him out more than he had expected. He doesn't really know whether it's because Gulf is just not the most talkative person, or because Mew was trying very hard to make a good impression on his junior. Either way, he must have done something right, because the lunch date is now on. And of course he doesn't mean it as a date-date! Just a let's-go-over-the-script-together session, but with food. Baby steps. Let's see what this kid's all about.

***

"I don't get it," Mew says, jabbing at his salad with a fork. He's trying to make himself look invested in the character analysis conversation they're having, but in all honesty, he's just focused on observing Gulf in a new setting. "It only takes one tiny kiss for Tharn to be suddenly on cloud nine, all conflict forgotten. Does that even make sense?"

Sitting opposite him, Gulf takes a sip of water. "Tharn is head over heels for Type to the point of absurdity. Shouldn't P'Mew know it by now?"

Slightly taken aback by Gulf's forwardness, Mew narrows his eyes and tilts his head to the side just so. He starts to think people have been mistaking Gulf's aloofness for shyness all this time. "Love can't justify everything, though, can it? What about Tharn's self-respect?"

He can barely stop himself from scoffing when a cheeky smirk spreads across Gulf's lips. "Self-respect? Tharn? A little too late for that, if I may say so."

Mew's eyes follow Gulf's hand as it carefully picks up chopsticks from the table. That brat has been hiding himself behind the façade of coyness, while in reality, he seems to resemble Type in more ways than one. Mew can't deny there's something strangely enticing about it. Makes him want to be more like Tharn. Makes him want to just reach out for him and kiss that little smirk right off his face.

Which, by the way, is something he knows he shouldn't be thinking when he's trying to carry on a professional conversation like a professional actor he is.

"Are you implying Tharn is a pushover?"

He watches Gulf plop a piece of fried pork into his mouth.

"Well," the boy shrugs, covering his mouth as he chews his meat. "You said that."

Mew doesn't even know why he's starting to get so worked up over this little argument. Perhaps it's because deep inside, he feels an inexplicable connection to his character, even if he doesn't always understand the reasoning behind his actions.

"Aren't you too hard on him? He might be a hopeless romantic, but that doesn't automatically make him a wimp," he argues.

Swallowing his last bite, Gulf lets out a drawn-out "Hmmm", as if he was deciding how to reply.

"You said yourself you didn't understand why Tharn keeps going so easy on Type, and now you're suddenly defending him," Gulf finally says, letting his gaze meet Mew's for the first time since they sat at their table. "Seems to me you understand more about him than you let yourself believe."

"Also, for your information," he continues, while Mew's trying to read the enigmatic look on his face, "I'm not saying he's a pushover all the time. He knows exactly what he wants, and just how to get it. Which is quite sexy, if you ask me."

With that, Gulf pushes his chair back, and then he's suddenly towering over Mew, close enough for him to feel the warmth of Gulf's skin where his hand touched Mew's arm for a split second, most likely by accident.

"Are we heading back now?"

Mew almost needs to shake his head to collect his thoughts. It's not like it's him who Gulf just called sexy.

With a nod, he rises from his seat and follows Gulf out, wishing for the first time in his life he could trade places with a fictional character.

Also, he could swear his heart wasn't pounding so fast just a few minutes ago.


	3. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello,  
> I just want to thank everyone who decided to join me on this bumpy ride. I'm very new to all of this, so please bear with me!

Gulf kisses Mew later that day.

Alright, it’s actually Type kissing Tharn, in a poor attempt at an apology, but it still counts. It counts because it feels different this time.

Mew realizes something’s not right when the cameras start rolling and he simply messes up. It’s just a peck, a light touch of Gulf’s – no, _Type’s_ – lips against his own, and yet his mind goes blank as he continues to stand there, motionless and ready for an inevitable shout of “Cut!”.

“You were supposed to stop Type from leaving, and then initiate another kiss,” the director offers, as if Mew didn’t know. He scoffs internally at the thought. He knows this scene by heart, he never comes to the set unprepared. 

“Sorry,” he bites into his cheek in embarrassment. “I got distracted.”

It’s the truth. He must have already kissed this boy a hundred times by now, and yet his lips suddenly seemed that much warmer against his, that much more insistent. 

“Let’s try again,” the director commands.

Mew assumes a stern expression, preparing to play hurt and offended. As Type and Tharn, Gulf and Mew proceed to exchange a few sentences, and then Gulf’s lips are pressed against Mew’s once again.

This time around, Mew is determined to do it right. Unfortunately for him, that changes once he remembers Gulf’s words from a couple of hours ago. _He knows exactly what he wants, and just how to get it_. 

It’s all the encouragement he needs to throw caution to the wind, deciding to give Gulf the Tharn he likes so much. The Tharn who gets what he wants.

Initially, Gulf seems unfazed when Mew doesn’t pull back after a couple of seconds, like he was supposed to. Maybe he assumes they’re improvising for the benefit of the scene, or maybe he just doesn’t mind. But the moment Mew parts his lips and presses them hard into Gulf’s with a detectable intention, while snaking his arm around the boy’s waist to pull him that much closer, Mew feels gentle pressure against his arms.

“Cut, what the hell, Mew?” the director jumps to his feet. “First Gulf, now you? Thought you had more good judgement than that.”

The director’s words are more than enough to bring Mew to his senses. Never in his career has he let his real self take over like that, and, in all truth, he’s extremely disappointed in himself now.

Avoiding everyone’s eyes, and especially Gulf’s, he mutters an apology and says something about being tired and needing sleep.

And just like that, the whole cast and crew simply decide to blame it all on Mew’s sleep deprivation. Mew, on the other hand, decides to blame it on his short moment of weakness. And partly on Gulf’s plump lips.

***

“Got enough sleep this time?” The mockery in Gulf’s voice is undeniable.

“Yeah,” Mew lies. He didn’t sleep a wink last night. Mainly because of embarrassment, but also due to wondering what it would feel like to kiss Gulf for real. Not that he’d ever admit to that.

“Too bad. Seems like sleep deprivation makes Tharn less of a softie.”

Mew almost chokes on his own saliva. Did Gulf really just say that?

“Type didn’t seem to like the sleep-deprived Tharn, though.” Fine, two can play that game.

Gulf doesn’t respond to that. Not with words, anyway. He just gives Mew a lopsided smile as he grabs a bottle of water from the table. 

“Lunch today?” Mew calls out to him as his junior sprints towards the changing room. “Or dinner?”

“I don’t dine with softies,” Gulf shouts over his shoulder before disappearing behind the door.

Mew finds himself smiling against his will.

***

Ever since their lunch-date-slash-script-analysis-session outside the set and away from the remaining cast and crew, Mew constantly catches himself stealing glances at his co-star. He’s really glad Gulf barely looks up from the script in his lap whenever they’re on set.

It’s not a crash, by the way. Not yet. Just curiosity. He’s been studying the boy like he would study a script, performing a thorough analysis, trying to _really_ read him. But Gulf’s not an open book – far from that. He remains a riddle, a true mystery, and there’s something extremely alluring about it, something challenging that makes Mew always want to know more.

There are times when Mew thinks they’re still strangers to one another, distant and barely speaking, except for an occasional banter. Other times he’s fairly certain that it’s not as bad as it used to be, especially when Gulf asks for help with the script, or wants to discuss the intricacies of a given scene. He’s working very hard, that kid, Mew has to give him that. And perhaps it’s partly due to Gulf’s good work ethic that Mew wants to support him however he can. It’s also because Gulf makes him question his ability to ever deny him.

Mew’s well aware that somewhere along the way he stopped being entirely professional. Whenever their lips meet, he wonders how much of Gulf, if at all, is in the kiss. It’s not safe, he knows as much, but it’s not so hard to fall into this kind of trap, even if you don’t have any intention to. Well, they say a fool never learns.

Mew’s head is full of these thoughts when Gulf’s hand tugs lightly at his shoulder from behind.

“Hey, Phi,” Gulf’s voice is playful, but his eyes seem to be hiding something. “Can I take you up on your offer from the other day?”

Mew raises a brow. “Which one?”

“Lunch?” Gulf says. “Or dinner. Either is fine.”

Boy, is that out of character for Gulf. “I thought you don’t dine with softies. Or borderline strangers.”

“On closer inspection, I don’t think you’re either of these things,” Gulf says nonchalantly as an unusually gentle smile spreads across his lips.

Something’s definitely not right here.

“Are you okay?” Mew narrows his eyes.

“Why, because I’m asking you out? Don’t worry, it’s for work. I have an issue I need to discuss with you, and I’d rather do that somewhere private.”

“Right,” Mew nods. “Sure. Dinner it is.”

***

They’re at a curry place, waiting for their order. Gulf knows full well that Mew can’t eat spicy food, and yet he demanded that they come here specifically. Maybe he forgot. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“Okay, let’s get on with it,” Gulf takes a deep breath and lets the air out slowly, puffing out his cheeks. “So, I figured I had to talk to you first. Actually, that’s a lie. I already mentioned this to P’Mame.”

Mew certainly doesn’t like where this is going. Gulf is being all serious and there’s no trace of the usual sarcasm in his voice. “Okay, so what’s this about again?”

“The thing is…” Gulf lowers his gaze. “I might be quitting. This. The whole thing.”

The waitress chooses this very moment to bring their order to the table. Mew watches her put the plates carefully in front of them, taking her time. She’s very pretty, prettier than his first girlfriend back in school days. What grade was it again? He can’t recall. He’s getting more and more nervous with every single heartbeat, and by the time Gulf thanks the waitress and she walks off, he’s biting into the inside of his cheek, almost to the point of drawing blood.

“Sorry, I think I misheard. You might be what?”


	4. Confrontation

The rest of the night was a blur. 

Mew can barely recall who paid for yesterday’s dinner or how he got back home from the restaurant. All he remembers is Gulf being very vague and mumbling something about insecurities, burdens, and second thoughts, none of which made any sense to Mew, however hard he tried to focus.

Thousands of questions were rushing through his head. Why now? What triggered it? _What about me?_ But he never asked any of them. Instead, he kept nodding politely like a mature and supportive senior he is, willing his brain to cooperate. In that particular moment, he felt like he was on autopilot with absolutely no control over his reactions. He wasn’t even the one doing the talking, yet he felt so fucking vulnerable. He felt so betrayed.

Even now, a full day after Gulf dropped that bomb on him, he still can’t comprehend what exactly happened. Maybe he should just call him. Ask for more details, demand an explanation. Or maybe he needs some space. He didn’t even come to the set today. Maybe he’s sick? No, P’Tee would have told him. Maybe – 

The buzzing sound pulls him out of his thoughts. With a pounding heart, he instantly clambers off the bed and reaches out for his phone, only to realize it’s not the one person he actually wouldn’t mind talking to right now.

“Hi, Mild,” he sighs into the phone. “What’s up?”

Mild doesn’t even try to hide his agitation. “Did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“The news! Did you hear it?” Did Mild just huff at him?

“Did you just huff at me?”

“Listen, it’s not the time for this,” Mild retorts. “Is your boyfriend out of his mind? What did you do to make him want to quit?”

Mew takes a deep breath. So Mild knows, too. “Stop calling him my boyfriend.”

“Is that really all you have to say?” Mild all but squeaks into the phone. “What is wrong with you, Phi?”

“What is wrong with _me_?” Mew snaps. “It’s not me who’s quitting an acting job in the middle of the shooting!”

“Well, there must be a valid reason for that, don’t you think?”

“Wait a minute, what are you implying?” He can’t believe what he just heard. Of all people in the world, Mew is the last person to ever wish Gulf was gone. Ever.

“I don’t know, Phi,” Mild’s voice seems calmer now. “But I think you should really talk to him.”

“This is ridiculous. Tell me everything.” Mew’s not stupid. It’s obvious that Mild knows more than he’s willing to share. Hell, if this goes on, his anxiety will go through the roof.

“All I can tell you is that you haven’t been very observant, Phi,” says Mild. “And now you’re going to make everyone pay for it.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!” 

“No,” Mild agrees. “It’s not.”

***

Mew’s sleeping schedule has been totally messed up since he heard Mild’s revelation. Actually, it wasn’t really a revelation – more like an obscure hint at best, and that’s the problem. He would rather hear the whole truth, painful though it may be, than be left hanging like that. 

So he tries to talk to Gulf. He really does. But people seem to be swarming around them all the time, always needing something from one or the other, as if they made it their goal to keep them apart. At some point Mew starts to think that’s actually the case.

“And?” Mild tries to keep his voice down, even though Gulf is nowhere is sight. “It’s been three days. Did you talk to him?”

They’re on the set, preparing to film one of the campus cafeteria scenes. 

“I’m trying,” Mew runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his, and regrets it immediately after. The hair stylist had to work exceptionally hard to put his hair in place this morning, and now it’s all ruined. “Just haven’t had the chance yet.”

“Excuses,” Mild rolls his eyes. “I saw him in that makeshift changing room of ours. Go get your man.”

“He’s not –,” Mew sighs. “Never mind. Thanks.”

His heart’s beating its way out of his chest now. What is he even supposed to ask about? Maybe it’s not a good idea, after all? Gulf’s a grown ass man, he probably knows what he’s doing. What if he doesn’t want Mew to pry?

It’s when he’s a few steps away from the changing room that he hears an indistinct voice that he assumes to be Gulf’s. His hand is already wrapped around the door handle when another voice reaches his ears.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” 

It must be Boat. Mew already feels guilty for standing there without his co-stars knowing, but it’s like his feet won’t move, so he resorts to one thing he can do, which is holding his breath in anticipation.

“All he said was that he understood, Phi. That’s all the reaction he had.”

“You know him, he was just probably being supportive.”

“Are you for real?” Gulf’s voice seems a little shaky now. “How can he be supportive of his co-star quitting his job not even half-way through? And no, actually. I don’t know him, and I don’t understand him. Do you?”

“That’s beside the point,” there’s a sigh, and a faint rustling sound that follows. Mew pictures Boat putting his arm around Gulf’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort. “You didn’t tell P’Tee yet, did you?”

“No.”

“Good. Let’s wait it out, yes?”

***

Mew tries to avoid Gulf for the rest of the day, at least as much as he can, given that they need to film a couple of scenes together in different locations. Gulf’s mostly silent, not a rare occurrence for him, and this time around, Mew’s pretty grateful for that. If there’s one thing he really dreads right now, it’s confrontation.

Despite what must be going on in Gulf’s head, he seems extremely focused and professional. It’s admirable how he can keep Type’s and his own emotions separate like that. Mew hopes he’s capable of doing the same with Tharn, but something’s telling him they’re going to need a lot of takes, and Gulf won’t be the one to blame for that.

“Aaaand cut,” P’Tee exclaims. “Not bad, but let’s try again. Mew, will you lose that mournful look for me, please? It doesn’t fit the mood of the scene.”

Mew gives him a nod, wondering what sort of look would P’Tee have on his face if he knew his project was about to fall apart. 

They end up filming that one scene for almost an hour. When they’re finally done, it’s a little past 10 p.m., and both cast and crew seem outright exhausted. People start pacing around, collecting their belongings and preparing to leave. Mew, on the other hand, hasn’t moved since the last call of cut. With his cheek propped on his hands, he watches the hustle and bustle of the set, wondering how Gulf’s decision will affect everything. He would miss it so much. Will Gulf miss it at all?

“What’s the rush?” 

Pulled out of his thoughts, Mew snaps his head to the side, only to lock gazes with Mild. “Ha ha. I don’t feel like moving.”

“You don’t say,” Mild takes a seat next to his senior. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Mild shrugs. “If you were going to be so damn heartbroken, why didn’t you stop him when he gave you a chance?”

“I’m not heartbroken,” Mew insists. “Also, I don’t know what you mean. It’s not like he asked me. It’s not like he needs to, either. Why would I pry into his business?”

He doesn’t know what irks him more – Mild’s eye roll, or his exaggerated groan of dissatisfaction that follows. 

“For such an amazing scholar you’re making yourself out to be, you can be really dense, Phi, you know that? I’m just gonna leave you here to wallow in self-pity.”

With that, Mild rises from his seat. “But if you change your mind, he’s outside, waiting for P’Best to pick him up. I heard it might take a while.”

And then he’s gone. 

It takes Mew a few deep breaths and one moderately successful attempt at a mental pep talk to spring to his feet and run for the exit, shouting his goodbyes on his way out to whoever hasn’t left the set yet.

Maybe it’s his mind’s response to the adrenaline rush, but suddenly everything seems so… doable. He’s just going to tell it like it is. No filter. No holding back. They’re both adults. Professionals. They can talk business, can’t they? 

It’s dark outside, but even despite the poorly lit sidewalk, he can clearly see the outline of Gulf’s slightly slouched shoulders. He’s staring at his phone, probably keeping himself busy with one of those games of his. Mew can’t help but marvel at how familiar this sight is to him, and how at home it makes him feel. He’d better not screw this up.

“Still refusing to be nice to your seniors, huh?” Mew begins conversationally. “Not even a goodbye for your Phi on your way out.”

Gulf looks up from his phone, light from the screen illuminating his face. He looks dead beat. How did Mew miss that before? “Sorry. I’m exhausted.”

“I can tell,” Mew smiles, walking over to his junior. “Your face speaks volumes.”

“Thanks, Phi,” Gulf scoffs, looking down at his feet. “Much appreciated.”

“Aw, looking away now. Is Nong being shy?”

“Yeah, well. I saw those dark circles under my eyes, no need to rub it in.” 

Mew chuckles. Boy, is he going to miss this.

“Speaking of dark circles,” he clears his throat. “You gave me those, too, you know? I’ve barely slept a wink over the past few days.”

He watches Gulf cram his hands into his pockets with his gaze still glued to the sidewalk. “Why should I feel responsible for that?”

“Well, for starters, you’re planning to put the whole project in danger. How’s that for a reason?” 

“You’re all going to be just fine,” Gulf’s now looking ahead, still successful in avoiding Mew’s gaze. “In fact, you’ll be better off without a noob like me.”

Is that what it’s about? Mew frowns, trying to rack his brain for anything he might have ever said or done to make Gulf feel that way. He can’t recall anything.

“What do you mean? You’re doing great.” He really is. He’s working so hard, he’s always prepared, always professional. In all honestly, Mew has been envious of him on more occasions than he’d be willing to admit.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Gulf huffs. “I did, but apparently you didn’t care to listen. I know that you’re not happy with me being Type. You probably think I’m going to drag you down. The whole show. And hell, maybe I am. Judging by the number of mistakes I’ve made so far, it’s highly probable.”

Gulf’s voice is shaky now, almost cracking, and Mew feels like a downright moron for putting this conversation off for so long. He really can’t read Gulf, can he?

Taking a step closer, he reaches out with both hands and gets a hold of Gulf’s shoulders, gently turning his body toward him so he can look him in the eye.

“Listen, I don’t know what it’s _really_ about. But if I’ve ever done anything to make you feel uncomfortable or unappreciated, I’m very, _very_ sorry. I know you must have your reasons, and if you don’t want to tell me what they are exactly, that’s fine, too. I’ll respect that. I just need you to know one thing. I’m really struggling right now. And it’s not because the whole production will come to a halt while they’re looking for someone to replace you with. It’s because I can’t picture any other Type at Tharn’s side. I mean it.”

 _It’s because no one could possibly replace you by my side_ , is what he really means, but it’s far too early for him to be sure about it, and far too early for Gulf to hear it. Maybe one day he’ll be in a position to tell him that, too.

A tiny, barely noticeable smile tugs at the corners of Gulf’s lips, and Mew decides to take it as a good sign. There’s still a long way ahead of them, but the first step has been taken. 

For now, he’ll be happy just to have Gulf back. Even if he wasn’t his to lose in the first place.


	5. Rehearsal

It’s an exceptionally sunny morning when Mew locks the door of his family house behind himself, leaving for the first filming location of the day. It’s been downpour after downpour for the past few days—not a rare occurrence in the rainy season—so he welcomes the warm and soothing feeling of sunbeams against his skin. 

As always, Bangkok’s morning rush hour greets him with heavy traffic. Stuck in a long line of cars, he takes a somewhat anxious peek at his watch—he’s late, _very_ late—and wriggles his phone out of his pocket. He wouldn’t stand a chance against the earsplitting honking and an occasional angry shout of profanity from the exasperated bikers and fellow drivers, so he opts for a text instead of a call. _Stuck in traffic. Will be a little late, sorry. Could you let everyone know?_

The response is instantaneous. _You are already late._

Mew smiles. He can almost hear Gulf saying that in his notorious fake angry tone, with an exaggerated emphasis on _already_. He wouldn’t expect anything else from Gulf. And he kind of doesn’t mind.

He should have probably texted P’Tee first. Or instead. But ever since that conversation he had with Gulf in front of the building they were shooting in, under the faint light of street lamps, their relationship has taken a slight turn for the better. Mew is now on a mission to build that bond, regardless of Gulf’s snarky comments and apparent indifference he likes to display so much. If the happenings of the past few weeks have taught Mew anything, it’s that Gulf’s words are not always in line with his feelings. 

He’s almost an hour late when he plops down onto a chair in front of a giant mirror, putting his hands together while ducking his head in a gentle bow of apology. His hair is a mess and he’s sweating buckets, so the scolding looks he gets from the hairstylist and makeup artist come as no surprise.

“So much for being a respect-worthy senior.” 

Mew turns his head to the side where Gulf’s now leaning against the door frame while serving him a lopsided smile. He’s wearing his football player outfit, and Mew’s gaze catches on the boy’s knee socks. He wonders if they’ve always hugged those well-defined calves so snugly.

“Traffic. Couldn’t help it.” He clears his throat, trying to tear his eyes away from Gulf’s shorts. Those years of playing football definitely did wonders for his thighs.

“Shocking.” Gulf shakes his head in mock bewilderment. “Because Bangkok is this quiet, desolate place on the daily.” 

The hairstylist giggles at that (God, she’s making it so obvious that she likes him), and it’s all the distraction she needs to poke Mew straight in the eye with a makeup brush. “Ouch!”

“Sorry,” she lets out an apologetic groan.

Gulf beams. “That’s what you get for making me wait.”

“So you’ve been waiting?” Mew cocks an eyebrow and winces immediately after at his measly attempt at flirting. Is that too early? Was that out of place?

A daring look he gets in reply seems to negate both of those concerns. “I might have.”

***

Mew’s splayed out on the couch with the script in his hand, trying to memorize his lines for tomorrow’s scenes while resisting the urge to rub his sensitive eye. It’s been hours and the stinging sensation hasn’t worn off one bit. 

“Your face looks funny when you do that.” Gulf blatantly points right at Mew’s face, as if it wasn’t clear enough from his statement which body part he meant. 

Mew looks up from his script. “Do what?”

“That exaggerated blinking thing?” 

“Yeah, well, my eye hurts. It wouldn’t, had you not distracted the makeup artist.” 

He expects a retort from Gulf at that, or a shrug of indifference, if he’s lucky. What he actually gets in reply has him at a loss for words.

“Should I make it up to Phi?”

Yes. Yes, he should. Mew can think of at least a hundred ways Gulf could make it up to him, none of which involve keeping their relationship professional. It doesn’t help that Gulf’s practically _staring_ at him now, cheekily at that, a curious brow raised slightly in anticipation of an answer. He can’t quite pinpoint the moment when making eye contact became perfectly doable for Gulf, but that’s beside the point now, because God, what is he supposed to say to _that_? He can either play it safe, laugh it off like the vague innuendo went right over his head, or… Or he can own up to his cravings and see where it takes him. Eventually, he opts for neither.

It’s an impromptu idea, which makes for a risky move, but he figures it’s still less of a gamble than the second option he was seriously considering for a fraction of a second.

“You’d better.” He beams, hoping his smile is not as creepy as the images in his head. “How about you help me rehearse the scene we’re filming next?”

Gulf loses his cheeky grin while his face goes through a myriad of expressions, from mild astonishment to hesitancy to eventual reluctance, and everything in between. Even so, he gives Mew a slow, somewhat careful nod.

“Okay.”

It’s all he says. And it’s a pretty decent answer to a simple question like that, only he looks like he wants to say something else, or something more, or perhaps take what he said back. 

And even narrowing his eyes in deliberation doesn’t help Mew figure out, why.

***

It’s official—Mew’s an idiot.

It belatedly dawns on him when he has a quick flick through the script to look over the scene they’re filming next. The scene that Gulf agreed to rehearse with him upon his suggestion. The one wherein Type and Tharn make up after the former admits he was unable to sleep with Puifai because all he could think about was Tharn. That fucking scene.

Mew has to fight the urge to facepalm. Did he just suggest that they rehearse what is essentially a makeout scene, after Gulf asked if he should make it up to him? No wonder Gulf’s hesitant nod of approval made him look more apprehensive than not. Great. Now he thinks Mew’s a fucking creep.

“We don’t have to do this,” Mew groans, watching Gulf spread a blanket on the floor. 

“The bed’s ready,” comes Gulf’s response. “I guess you should lie down first.”

They’re on an unused set, away from the remaining cast members and the crew. Mew looks around the room—it’s empty, with no prying eyes and loud voices. The intimacy that comes with it makes the situation all the more horrifying and tantalizing both at the same time.

Uncertain though he is, Mew does as he’s told. He tosses the script to the spot on the floor right next to the blanket, then lies down on his left side and lets his eyes fall shut. “Ready when you are.”

It’s mere seconds later that he feels warm breath against the nape of his neck. Gulf’s arm wraps around his waist, palm coming to rest at his belly, and the sensation of him being so close, without anyone watching, sends Mew’s mind reeling. With Gulf’s body radiating heat behind him, he needs to make a conscious effort to focus on his breathing pattern, so it really looks like he’s asleep.

There’s a faint sigh, and then, “I’m sorry, Tharn.”

Each uttered word sends a delectable puff of hot air over the back of Mew’s neck. Gulf’s hand is now clutching at the front of his white t-shirt while the grip around his waist appears to be tightening.

He continues to mutter his apologies, voice shaky and on the verge of cracking, and Mew’s really grateful to P’Mame for allowing Tharn to stop faking sleep at this point, so he can shift his focus from steadying his breath to pulling the non-existent earphones out of his ears.

What follows is a short conversation—an exchange of a few rather significant questions and answers between Tharn and Type—and then Mew’s lying on his back, head tilted to the side so he can meet Gulf’s eyes.

“Please forgive me,” Gulf—no, _Type_ — pleads. “Forgive me one more time.”

There’s nothing Mew needs to forgive Gulf for, but if there was, he reckons he’d be more than willing to do that in this very moment, with Gulf’s face so close to his, and his big, sad eyes glistening with self-induced tears. It’s no wonder Tharn decides to do the same.

They have both got a tad bit too much into character by now, Mew can figure as much, but that knowledge does nothing to stop him from reaching up and pulling Gulf that much closer, until his face is nested in the crook of Mew’s neck. There’s a wet sensation where Gulf’s lashes flutter against his skin.

“Good boy,” Mew breathes, fingers buried in Gulf’s fine hair. “You already know that I can never be angry with you.”

A whimpering sound that follows must have the power to break hearts, because Mew feels like his is ready to crack and explode. He has to remind himself that the dampness along the side of his neck doesn’t come from real tears, and the quivering against his body didn’t originate from real emotion. This is all just make-believe, he tells himself, all fake. 

“So…,” he forces himself to continue. “You are mine now.”

A well-hidden part of him, one that he’s hiding from himself, too, wishes that was really the case. Even more so when Gulf takes it as his cue to pull away, just enough to look at his co-star with the kind of possessiveness Mew hasn’t seen in his junior’s eyes before. 

“It’s you who are mine.” Yes. Yes, he is. Even if he hasn’t quite acknowledged that yet. “Because I won’t let you go again.”

Mew knows full well what follows after his next line, anxiety and expectation building up in the pit of his stomach as he says, “You already know that I have always been yours.”

And then it happens. With no evident sign of hesitation, Gulf cranes his neck upward, but instead of pressing a kiss to Mew’s forehead like he’s supposed to, he lets his lips gently brush over one of Mew’s eyelids. Regardless of whether it was an accident, or a deliberate deviation from the script, Mew can barely stop himself from smiling. It was the sore eye.

There’s no time to dwell on that, though, because Gulf’s mouth now presses against the curve of his cheek and lingers there for a second too long, before he moves further down to aim for the lips. Giving Mew no time to decide whether it’s a good idea or not, he claims his senior’s mouth in a short, chaste kiss.

It’s somewhat hard for Mew to process what just happened, so he takes his time opening his eyes, even after Gulf pulls away completely. He stares up at him, watching his face closely for any sign of genuine intention, but he’s not sure he can find any. Then again, it’s Gulf, and Mew can’t read him to save his life. 

It’s just acting, make-believe, all fake. But even though he keeps telling himself that, it’s an undeniable fact that they just shared a kiss without anyone there to watch them for the first time since they met. And hell, for an act of make-believe, it felt pretty damn amazing.

All those thoughts bring a tiny smile to his lips. With a contented sigh, he utters his next line, preparing internally for what’s supposed to happen after Gulf’s imminent response. “Is this how you make it up to me?” 

“It’s… how P’Mew wanted me to.”

Well, fuck.

“Shit,” Mew hisses, shooting up to a sitting position, the delightful intimacy of the scene all gone. “No, it’s not like that. I wasn’t trying to… _God._ I didn’t mean to imply that you need to make it up to me in _this_ way. I was really hoping you wouldn’t misunderstand it like you apparently did.”

Gulf sits up as well, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

“What’s there to misunderstand? You asked me to help rehearse the scene, which I did. Well, to a point.” He averts his gaze for a second, as if it just occurred to him what would have happened had he stuck to the script. “It was pretty obvious you had no idea what you were asking for. That moment you realized what scene we were supposed to rehearse, God, it was hilarious! The panic in your eyes!”

Mew knits his brow in thought. “Wait, you knew I didn’t suggest this scene intentionally?”

“You’re not Tharn, you know,” Gulf observes, poking Mew in the chest. “He’s cunning enough to come up with such a plan. You? You’re too nice for that.”

“But you still went along with it?” Mew can’t seem to wrap his head around it.

“Why wouldn’t I? I mean, sure, I was surprised at first… But I figured it’d be fun.” Gulf shrugs. “And I was right.”

Mew doesn’t have a way of knowing what exactly was fun to Gulf—the kissing part, or the part where he was pulling Mew’s leg and watching him go into panic mode. Something’s telling him Gulf’s enough of a brat to have made it vague on purpose. And it’s not like Mew can simply ask him to be more specific.

“You’re so confusing,” he sighs, looking down at his hands resting in his lap.

“ _I’m_ confusing?” Gulf scoffs. “Do I need to remind you that until very recently I was pretty sure you thought I was doing a shitty job as Type? 

So they’re changing the subject now, fine. “Yeah, how did _that_ come about?”

“Seriously?”

“Well you weren’t overly elaborate about it last time,” Mew says in a mock-accusatory tone. It’s true. Gulf may have mentioned something about making mistakes during filming, but that was pretty much the extent of his explanation.

“I kept messing up.”

“That’s not—”

“I did, you know I did.” Gulf stretches his legs out in front of him, palms coming to rest against the blanket-covered floor behind him. “Kissing your co-star for real in the first workshop? Honestly, who does that? I didn’t even know the basics. I kept kissing back when I wasn’t supposed to, kept getting carried away during… certain scenes. It’s been error after error for me, and it made me feel so bad for the whole crew. And for P’Mew, too. Must have been hell to put up with a noob like me.”

Sitting crossed-legged, Mew realizes he’s been clutching hard onto his own knees ever since Gulf started talking. That kid is so unbelievably wrong about the whole thing, so damn hard on himself it almost makes Mew mad.

“Listen,” he turns to face Gulf. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You’re doing great. You’re a quick learner, a natural. I’m serious. And if I’m honest, there were times I was envious of how effortlessly you could transform into Type while keeping your own emotions at bay. Mistakes? Who doesn’t make them? Newsflash, not me.”

If Gulf’s wry smile is anything to go by, Mew must have said something right. “I find it hard to believe. You’ve never said anything. I guess I was hoping for some kind of encouragement or whatever.”

Mew resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Well, you haven’t been very approachable, have you? Always silent, grumpy, and avoiding eye contact.”

“That’s cause I was intimidated,” huffs Gulf. “But fine. What about when I said I wanted to quit? If you’d thought of me as a good fit, wouldn’t you have tried right away to make me stay?”

“I wanted to,” Mew lets out a sigh. “But I was trying to respect your decision, however bad I thought it was. It didn’t feel right to meddle in your affairs... Not until I learnt it was allegedly all my fault. Ask Mild if you don’t believe me.”

“I did.”

“Oh?” Mew’s eyebrows shoot up in shock. Mild has never admitted to talking about him with Gulf. Not that Mew has ever asked.

“Yeah. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here anymore, you know.”

An involuntary scoff leaves Mew’s mouth as he shakes his head in bewilderment. “Unbelievable.”

“I thought you didn’t like me!”

“Well, that’s not true at all.” Mew chuckles. “If anything, I’ve been curious about you.” 

There, he said it.

“You have?” Gulf cocks his head, an inquisitive smirk climbing onto his lips. “Is _that_ why you’ve been stealing glances at me when you thought no one was watching?”

“Hey!” Mew feels a familiar burning sensation in the tips of his ears. He’s been taking all the necessary precautions, and yet…

“Did you google me, too?” Gulf continues his interrogation.

“Who wouldn’t google their co-star?” 

“What did you find out about me?”

“That you’re not into softies.” Mew winks. “Did Nong google me, too?”

Shit. So much for being careful. The moment Mew’s question falls from his lips, he wishes for nothing more than to take it back and never address this matter ever again. The mere thought of Gulf doing a search on his name only to find all those defamatory articles and harmful netizens’ comments about his past mistake makes him sick to his stomach.

Before Gulf gets to respond, there’s a sudden commotion in the room adjacent to theirs, voices getting louder as crew members start running around, clearly in search for something important. As if on cue, both men move to get up from their makeshift bed. Without a word spoken between them, Mew picks up the blanket and proceeds to fold it, while Gulf starts walking towards the exit.

He stops at the door and looks over his shoulder to give Mew a cheeky grin. “Who wouldn’t google their co-star, am I right?” 

And then he’s gone.


	6. Progress

The rehearsal turned out to be rather beneficial to Mew, but also not. 

On the one hand, it helped him easily get into character when they were shooting the scene later that day. He was prepared for those tiny little whimpers of anguish bound to escape through Gulf’s trembling lips, and those tears hanging from his lashes, threatening to fall any second, but never actually making their way down his cheeks. Nothing took him by surprise—he knew exactly where they were going with that scene, the morning practice having been enough of a preview.

On the other hand, the rehearsal made him look forward to the actual filming, and that was concerning, to say the least. It wasn’t helping that Gulf had virtually admitted to running a search on Mew’s name, something he wished he could ban all people from doing. Because that, in combination with being on insufficiently good terms with Mew, could easily lead one to develop a very unhealthy bias against him. And Mew has dealt with enough prejudice in his life. He doesn’t like biased; he likes open-minded and unbigoted. Not that he doubts that Gulf has either of those qualities—he does play the role of a gay protagonist in a BL series, after all. Although apparently, as Mew had learned the hard way on a certain ill-fated occasion, making out with a same-sex co-star in front of cameras doesn’t automatically make you open-minded. He remembers taking a mental note of that back when he thought his world had collapsed, image tarnished and heart in pieces. And although the pieces have since been put back together, it still hurts where the cracks remained unconcealed, a bitter reminder of youthful credulity lost for good. 

Maybe he should let that mental note from months ago guide him through the situation at hand. After all, better safe than sorry. And at the moment of shooting that scene, safe was the last word Mew would use to describe his emotional state. 

Even now, sprawled rather comfortably across his very own bed with his hands tucked under his head, he feels a familiar lump forming in his throat. Eyes turned to the ceiling where they start to follow a dancing mosquito, he sighs a fourteenth sigh within the last quarter of an hour. Yes, he’s been counting.

He thinks back to a couple of hours ago. Gulf looked so damn pretty when Mew turned around in Tharn’s narrow, squeaky bed to face him, eyes full of sincere emotion. There was something about that apologetic look on his face, something that would have made Mew’s knees buckle if he hadn’t been lying down. Something that was solely Gulf, not Type.

The first press of his lips, like the one they had rehearsed a few hours prior, was delicate and fleeting. But unlike in their morning practice, the scene unfolded, and the kisses kept coming. He accepted all of them with eagerness he didn’t try to conceal, conscious that it’d look better on camera if Tharn’s engagement was evident. 

It was only half-way through the kissing sequence that it suddenly hit him—he was making the same mistake all over again. He was letting himself and his character bleed into one another, and it wasn’t for the first time.

Even with his brain screaming at him in distress, he knew he had to cling onto what was left of his professionalism and continue with a task at hand until the call of cut. Gulf’s insistent lips against his own wouldn’t let him escape, anyway. They kept moving—slowly, thoroughly—and Mew was close to believing them, believing _him_ , because maybe, just maybe, Gulf wasn’t weirded out by whatever nonsense he’d read about him on the internet. Maybe he was going to judge him against his own standards and on his own terms. Maybe it made sense to wait and see. 

Another sigh escapes him. The mosquito he’d been watching seems to have disappeared into thin air, at least until there’s an all-too-familiar buzzing sound close to his ear, and a stinging sensation right under his earlobe that follows right after. Bringing his hand to the side of his face, he sighs again, this time for a different reason altogether. The scratching that ensues alleviates the stinging, but the soreness elsewhere lingers.

***

No matter how hard he thinks about it, there only seems to be one way to find out if his former issues have somehow affected Gulf’s perception of him, and it’s certainly not through asking him directly. He doesn’t really understand why he’s suddenly so hung up on it. To assume Gulf had never googled his name would have been nothing short of insane, and he was well aware of that right from the start. He knew, and yet, somewhere deep in his heart, he hoped against all hope that the unbearable feeling of guilt and shame wouldn’t come back to haunt him, leaving a painful mark on his future relationships, both personal and work-related. As expected, hope didn’t lead him anywhere safe this time. 

So, again, there’s only one way to find out now, and Mew’s prepared to take a gamble. He’s been trying to get closer to Gulf over the past few weeks anyway—what’s the harm in trying a bit harder? Worst-case scenario, it will cost him his dignity, but hey, if he faces strong resistance, at least he’ll know that Gulf is, in fact, biased against him. A tad risky, if you ask him, but still worth a shot. 

Having formed the new resolution, Mew feels a heavy load lift off his chest. And when he sees Gulf walk onto the set a couple minutes later, all made up and ready to shoot, he lets himself smile a genuine smile, the first one since forever. 

“Hello, Nong.” 

Mew moves to stand beside him, swinging an arm over his shoulders. It’s new to both of them, such a nonchalant gesture of closeness, and he observes how Gulf’s brow furrows in consternation at the unexpected contact. He stiffens a little bit, but otherwise shows no resistance.

What was supposed to be the first test for Gulf, just a part of Mew’s plan, turns out to be an excuse instead. When Gulf eventually tilts his head to the side and smiles back tentatively, Mew can do nothing but wonder why the hell he never did that before. On a whim, he gives Gulf’s shoulder a tiny squeeze, before he retracts his arm completely, grin still plastered on his face. Gulf’s reaction is to lower his gaze to his feet, but the corners of his mouth remain lifted, too.

***

The first time Mew pulls Gulf into his lap takes them both by surprise. Partly because it’s utterly accidental, and partly because neither of them pulls away. Interesting. Mew takes a mental note of that, along with what he thinks is a contented sigh that leaves Gulf’s mouth when Mew experimentally drapes his arms across his belly. Gulf’s arms, by contrast, continue to hang loosely at his sides, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them in his state of apparent confusion. And frankly, he probably doesn’t, if his total lack of movement and verbal reaction is anything to go by. What counts, though, is that he lets Mew hold him until Tong and Kaownah join them at the table for some script reading. Which is not for long at all, but long enough for Mew to wince when the warm sensation of Gulf’s body against his chest melts away.

***

“Okay, what’s got into you?” Gulf leans sharply to the side and away from Mew to put some distance between them, Mew’s arm sliding off his shoulders in the process. They’re sitting next to each other on the sofa with the script laid open on the coffee table in front of them.

Mew frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” Gulf gestures vaguely between them. “Why are you doing this?”

“What exactly am I doing?”

“Come on,” Gulf rolls his eyes, and when Mew continues to feign ignorance, he adds, “This whole… skinship thing.”

Mew can’t say he didn’t see that coming. Maybe direct confrontation wasn’t their thing, but it surely couldn’t continue this smoothly forever.

“Well, you said it looked like I didn’t like you,” Mew raises his shoulders in a shrug, unfazed. “I figured this could help me prove otherwise. You know, just in case you want to quit again.”

Narrowing his eyes, Gulf leans against the backrest of the sofa and crosses his arms over his chest. “You already told me that wasn’t the case. And I’m not quitting. I thought we had it cleared up.”

“Does it really bother you so much?” Mew’s startled by how hoarse his voice comes out, and how every muscle in his body tenses up as he braces himself for Gulf’s reaction.

There’s a short moment of silence while Gulf turns his gaze from Mew’s face to his own lap. It doesn’t escape Mew’s attention how his junior briefly bites into his lower lip. Cute. “I’m not saying that. But it does seem suspicious and oddly out of character for you.”

“I can assure you that being like this is very much _in_ character for me,” Mew chuckles, allowing his arm to slide back around Gulf’s shoulder to pull him into his side again, as if to prove his point. It’s true. He’s always been clingy with his co-stars, but that didn’t really play out well before, did it? “I was just nice enough to restrain myself.”

“And that changed because?”

“We’ve been getting closer, right?” Mew flashes Gulf a million-watt smile, eyes turning into little half-moons and crinkling at the corners as he does so. Okay, fine, maybe it _is_ actually a part of his twisted plan, but since it’s working quite alright, Gulf surely doesn’t need to know that, does he? “And besides,” Mew pauses briefly, gaze locking in on Gulf, “You’re squishy. I like it.”

Which he’s quite scared to admit is true. He does enjoy this extra physical contact with Gulf, perhaps even a little more than he should. In fact, he’s been sleeping better than ever since he put his plan in motion, often dozing off to the memory of Gulf’s warmth against his body.

Even so, this is a test, and he’s determined to acknowledge its results. “But, obviously, I can stop if you want me to. Do you want me to, Nong?”

Gulf simply shrugs, averting his gaze like he always does when shyness gets the better of him. “Whatever.”

Mew smiles. Not a definite rejection then.

***

Screw the plan—keep the skinship.

That’s right, that’s what he’ll do. At this point he’s pretty sure he’s using his ridiculous plan as an excuse to hug the shit out of Gulf, anyway. There are times that he thinks he’s been doing that from the start.

A test? What is it, high school? He doesn’t need to see the test results to acknowledge the transformation Gulf has undergone over the past few weeks. Sure, he’s still a reserved, tight-lipped kid who doesn’t know how to act around strangers, but at least he doesn’t stiffen up the second Mew’s arms curl around him, like he used to do at first. He still wouldn’t reciprocate the hugs, of course, arms hanging loosely at his sides while Mew kneads his tummy, but that’s alright. There’s no rush. Baby steps. 

Steps toward what though? Mew groans—he wouldn’t be able to tell. He’s been letting himself enjoy their skinship far too much, so much so that it has become second nature to him somewhere along the way. It’s almost embarrassing how fast he grew dependent on any form of interaction with his junior. Gulf anywhere in sight? Mew draws closer. Gulf laughing? Mew joins in. Gulf searching for a seat? Mew has his lap prepared already. When did it all even happen?

He knows exactly who would be able to answer that question. Even if he hasn’t been actively keeping track of how quickly his relationship with Gulf has been progressing, the other cast members surely have. At first, Mew paid no mind to an occasional eyeroll from Mild or a smirk from Run, subtle as they were. Kaownah was too innocent to offer a reaction, while Boat looked like he simply didn’t care, which was rather fortunate. But when at some point Mild’s teasing grimaces turned into jocular hoots and Run’s smirks got replaced with suggestive comments, Mew was forced to entertain the possibility that maybe he’d been overdoing this whole skinship thing. Not that it would make him stop.

If Gulf is bothered by any of that, he’s great at hiding it. Obviously, being his reserved self, he doesn’t award Mew with too much involvement from his side, but the mere fact that he doesn’t resist or pull away is reassuring enough. Even the exaggerated reactions from the other boys don’t seem to trouble him too much, a delicate tone of red spreading across his cheeks only once in a while. Whenever it happens, he makes sure to hang his head and turn his gaze to the floor, as if hoping Mew doesn’t catch the upward curve of his lips that accompanies the blush. But Mew does, of course he does. And he finds it hard to dismiss the fluttering feeling in his chest that it triggers.

***

Mew and Mild are sipping at their drinks, huddled in a corner of the room with the script in their laps. Gulf’s shooting his individual scenes on a set nearby and it took a lot of determination for Mew not to follow him there to watch. He desperately needs a distraction, so Mild’s company really comes in handy. At least that’s what he thinks until his junior decides he’s done running through his lines with him and closes the script with a victorious flap.

“Okay, so about your boyfriend,” he begins in a sharp voice. “What’s going on with all the skinship?”

Mew rolls his eyes, straw slipping out of his mouth as he speaks, “Would you stop calling him that?”

“Would you stop acting like that’s exactly what he is to you, then?”

Mew puts his bubble tea away with a sigh. He’d rather finish it before the ice melts, but Mild doesn’t give him too much of a choice. “I’m just trying to get closer to him, is all. If we’re both comfortable with each other, it will only benefit Type and Tharn’s relationship. And besides, you know I’m a cuddler.”

“Well I don’t see you cuddling with anyone other than N’Gulf, so.” 

Touché. Mew has no comeback for that one, so he plays a friendship card instead. “Hey, don’t come for me. Whose friend are you again?”

“Yours,” Mild’s fast to confirm. 

Mew acknowledges his claim with a nod. “Right. So why—”

“And Nong’s.”

“Seriously?” Mew all but gasps. “Remind me, how long have we known each other?”

“That’s beside the point, Phi. He was confused and needed to talk it out with someone, so I offered him a shoulder to cry on. Figuratively. There was no crying involved. Yet.”

Mew can barely stop himself from facepalming. “You’re meddling _again_?”

“Hey, if I hadn’t made you talk to him back then, he would have quit, okay?” Mild huffs. “But seriously, the things that run through his head… You should hear it, you’d be surprised. Actually, maybe you wouldn’t—you’re both the same in that you tend to overthink pretty much everything. Anyway, I’m just trying to be a caring senior to him. I’m not taking sides or anything, alright?”

“That’s not the impression I get,” Mew grumbles. “So how does this work? He tells you stuff in confidence, and you shamelessly report back to me like it’s the most obvious thing to do? Does he even know you’re spilling the beans to me?”

“He doesn’t,” Mild admits. “But I think he hopes I do.”

Mew arches his brow in confusion. “Come again?”

“Ugh, you two honestly deserve each other,” Mild groans, pulling at his own hair in exasperation. “Why can’t you just _communicate_? It’s not that hard, I promise! Use _words_. Words, P’Mew, not just cuddles, yeah?”

He takes a deep breath, sparing Mew a quick, semi-sympathetic glance, before he resumes speaking. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’ve made good progress, but don’t you think N’Gulf could use some background? He won’t show it in front of you but he’s on the verge of freaking out. Not because he hates what you’re doing, but because it’s too much too soon, you know? One day you’re barely speaking and the next day you’re all over him. Come to think of it, I find it strange myself. Care to share how that came about?”

Mew takes a few seconds to ponder his reply. “So… It might have started with this plan—”

“No,” Mild cuts him off. “Just no. Please, _please_ don’t tell me it’s some sort of sick game of pretend.”

“Of course not, who are you taking me for?” Mew scowls at his junior, almost offended. “There’s no plan anymore, Nong. I think there never really was.”

Mild lets out a scoff. “You just needed an excuse, didn’t you?”

A rueful smile is all the answer he gets.

***

Mew decides to impose a cuddle ban on himself. Maybe Mild was right, maybe he’s been indulging his clinginess a little bit too much. It’s been a week now and he’s still going strong, albeit not without some difficulty. He keeps himself in check, keeps his hands to himself, keeps away from Gulf. Not completely, of course—that would be suspicious, and, quite frankly, unfeasible. He tries to retain his friendly attitude, while significantly reducing the amount of physical contact. In other words: sharing a laugh, excessive talking, and playful bickering – okay; random knee grabbing, compulsive hugging, and hand holding – not okay. Rules are straightforward enough, it’s the execution that’s challenging.

But Mew’s determined to persevere, at least until he gets a chance to talk with Gulf about this whole thing. Only it’s fucking stressful, the mere thought of it, and so he keeps putting it off like all confrontations in his life.

The moment his perseverance gets threatened comes unannounced. Out of nowhere, Gulf starts sauntering towards him (is there a tiny sway to his hip, or is he hallucinating?), and there’s no one else in sight. Mew has just changed into a black Metallica t-shirt to be featured in the upcoming scene, and is about to leave the fitting room area when Gulf blocks his way.

“What is it?” Mew asks, tilting his head to the side. He feels a little like they’re reenacting the scene intended for the fifth episode, the one where Tharn announces he’ll be sleeping over at his friend’s, and Type wouldn’t let him go.

Instead of offering a reply, Gulf raises his arms slightly, stretching them to the sides. Mew’s quite tempted to take a hint, but he can’t risk a misunderstanding at this point. He’s going to need that spelled out for him, alright?

“What are you doing?” he narrows his eyes in enquiry.

“Come on, don’t make me say it,” Gulf grunts, maintaining eye contact only until his gaze slides to the floor a few seconds later.

Hesitant, Mew takes a step forward, and it’s not long before he’s an arm’s length away from his junior. “You sure?”

“Just come here,” Gulf mumbles, and it’s all encouragement Mew needs to close the distance between them, enveloping Gulf in a relaxed hug.

To say he’s surprised to feel Gulf’s arms wrap around him in response would be an understatement of the year. He freezes, relishing a gentle caress of palms against his middle back.

“I hear you talked to P’Mild,” Gulf breaks the silence, but not the hug. “I think you might have taken what he said a little bit too seriously.”

“I—well. To be fair, he did mention you were going to freak out.”

“Actually, I think I’ve been closer to freaking out these past few days than I was before,” Gulf declares offhandedly, like it’s the most natural thing to say. Mew curses internally. God, the things Gulf does to him when he’s being forward like that. And as if that’s not bad enough, as if Mew’s heart didn’t just flutter in his chest, Gulf adds in a voice that’s barely above a whisper, “I missed this.”

Dumbfounded, Mew almost misses a shy “Can’t believe I said that” groan that comes right after, and all he can do in response is let his tentative grip tighten.


End file.
